


Christmas

by wibblywobblymess



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas Story, Mentioned alive Laura hale, Seriously blink and you miss it, based upon Imagines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 19:27:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6390163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wibblywobblymess/pseuds/wibblywobblymess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine getting caught under the mistletoe with Peter and he doesn't settle for just a kiss. </p><p>Based on this Imagine: http://imaginesteenwolf.tumblr.com/post/136611917333</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas

Christmas was a time for celebration – family, food, love, gifts, snow. Okay, so you were in Beacon Hills, the last one of those things was more or less only going to happen if the fairies got loose again. Things were…calm, or, at least, calmer than they had been. The Hales and the McCall pack were sharing the holiday, something that Scott and Stiles should be thanked for – neither let the topic fall until they got Derek to bend and open the loft up for the holiday.

It was beautiful. Despite the fact that Derek had so little in that loft – a couch, a bed, some chairs, and a table – over the weekend, they transformed the place into a beautiful party. Holiday lights hung around the windows, and lined the spiral staircase. Kira helped light the rest of the loft up as Derek and Scott hung about a dozen bulbs from the ceiling. Wreaths lined the walls, and wrapped around the lights on the staircase. A speaker played Christmas music in the corner. A much larger table was near the window, full of treats and drinks – alcoholic and non – and everyone was mingling around the room, talking, some dancing a little to the music. Despite the fact that more than half of the party-goers were underage, you could see from your place near the table that most of those were definitely a little tipsy.

 “For being all about this party, you don’t seem to be enjoying it.” You jumped at the voice, and peered over at Peter as he stood beside you, brow quirked.

“If you can believe it, Peter, I enjoy seeing them have fun. Besides, the alcohol is making my head a little warm.”

“You had half a glass.”

“I never drink.” With a smile, you stepped around him, and headed for the door to head outside. A little cool night air would feel good. You weren’t drunk; hell, you weren’t even tipsy, but the fact that you almost never drank – literally once a year, at most – was warming you, a little more than you wanted.

Peter followed you, but stood at the open door, arms crossed over his chest.

“Are you worried about me, Peter?” He smirked, but didn’t say anything as you glanced over at him from your place against the half-wall of the ledge. “I’m fine. You should be inside, with your nephew, your nieces, and everyone else. It is Christmas, after all.” He shrugged, barely half of a motion, and peered in at the party. You and Peter had a…complicated relationship, if anyone could really call it a relationship. You couldn’t figure out why you liked Peter – he was mean, and had psychopathic tendencies down to the core, but you just…he got to you. Crawled under your skin, and nested there, like he belonged.

“They’re having fun in there. I’m better where I am.” You stared at him, silent for a moment, before you chuckled, and shook your head at him.

“You’re better not standing in my way,” you teased, heading towards him to pass back into the loft.

In the middle of the doorway, he stopped you, that damn smirk still on his lips.

“…what?”

He said nothing, but pointed over your head instead, drawing your attention to the mistletoe dangling above you both. It had been hung at Stiles insistence, and his reassurance that it was _fake_ , not real.

“Peter.”

“Tradition,” he answered. You stared at each other, silent, before the blush filled your cheeks, and you stepped closer, further into his personal space. As he leaned in, fingertips barely brushing your neck and sending a shiver straight down your spine, he breathed a very soft “ _Merry Christmas, Y/N,_ ” against your lips, before pressing his to yours.

You couldn’t hear a damn thing anymore over the sound your heart beating in your ears. The kiss warmed your body straight down to your toes. For a few seconds, it was barely more than a press of lips, his fingers curled against your jaw on either side, your hands light against his jacket, but with the oh-so-slight parting of your lips for a breath, he parted his, as well, tongue darting passed your lips to tangle against your own tongue. The moan rumbled softly out of your throat, fingers gripping to his jacket as he pressed you to the doorframe. You didn’t know when he moved his hand, but suddenly, only one was on your jaw, the other circling your hip, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your top to touch against bare skin.

“Peter,” you breathed, tilting your head to get air, his lips following yours, as he made a questioning sound, but pressed his lips to your against. You whimpered, so soft not even the wolves could hear you, before tugging at his jacket, and pulling back against, pupils blown. “Come on.” Without another word, he grabbed your hand, and slipped you by the rest of the party towards the staircase, hands gripping your waist as the two of you disappeared up the steps.


End file.
